


O' Christmas Tree

by Justalittlelouislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Farmer Harry Styles, Fluff, M/M, Single Parent Louis, wonderful friend Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justalittlelouislove/pseuds/Justalittlelouislove
Summary: At a stoplight, he finds himself doing some retrospective thinking of his own. Instead of going over one of his fifty or so mental to-do lists, his mind drifts to Harry’s dimples, the way his whole face changed when he smiled, how some of the pine trees almost matched the green of his eyes perfectly. It’s- well it’s annoying is what it is. He can’t spend all his time thinking about some tree farmer with broad shoulders, he’s got bigger fish to fry. Girl Scout meetings, homework charts, client lists, lots and lots of very large fish sitting around waiting to be fried.or:Louis has a busy schedule to keep and a daughter to raise. He definitely isn't looking for a relationship. Enter Harry Styles, a local Christmas tree farmer that seems just a little too good to be true.





	O' Christmas Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Now that authors have been revealed I can thank the people who helped me so very much!
> 
> [Brokenheartsgoupthere](http://brokenheartsgoupthere.tumblr.com/) is the very best beta there is. Honest to goodness, so amazing and wonderful. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 
> 
> Also, [my Hello dear](https://helloamhere.tumblr.com/) your insight and opinion was so helpful. I adore you and value you so much. Thank you.

“Did you know that Penguins have knees, but they’re covered in lots and lots of feathers and that's why they waddle around?”

Blinking, Louis glances up into the rearview mirror at his daughter Rosie. From her car seat, she looks back at him, big blue eyes as curious as ever. He looks back at the road with a huff of laughter, “No. Actually, I did not know that.”

“Well, it’s true,” Rosie confirms. Louis hears a page turn and he glances back up. Her little blonde head is bent over her book, “And Polar bears have fur that covers their feet so they don’t slip on the ice.”

Louis hums in acknowledgment and switches on his blinker. It flashes quickly, dinging loudly at double time. Just another thing on it’s way out; this morning the fridge had groaned fairly ominously when Louis pulled out the milk for his coffee. What is it about having a tight budget that seems to make appliances throw in the towel?

The road ahead is winding and a little slick, still wet from last night’s snowfall. Louis navigates it carefully in their ancient Subaru, all the while listening to Rosie’s announcements. If there's an award for multitasking, single parents have got to be the recipients every year.

“Do you know what that means, Daddy?” Rosie's voice always hitches up an octave or two when she’s setting up to torture him, “About the bears?”

Louis smirks, keeping his eyes forward and tone innocent, “No, what does it mean?”

“There’s no bare feet for those bears!” Rosie quips, giggling before she can even get through the sentence. “Do you get it?”

“Yup, I get it,” Louis says fondly, “You’re pretty funny, little girl.”

Another turn of a page. “Thanks, Daddy.”

With Rosie fully engrossed in _101 Polar Animal Facts_ once again, Louis shifts his full attention to getting them to their destination. They’ve never been to this tree farm, they’ve never been to any tree farm for that matter. The holidays are stressful enough on your own, with a child, adding pine needles and a falling hazard to the mix has never been at the top of Louis’ list of priorities.

But, Rosie is five now and more independent, things are a little easier. In fact, he’d been thinking about getting a tree for a while. One morning over his coffee and toast, when Rosie had come down for school in pigtails and bows, clutching _Maple and Willow’s Christmas Tree,_ she announced they would have a Christmas tree that year. So that decision was made.

“That’s the sign, Daddy,” Rosie reports, just as Louis spots it and slows to turn in, “There it is. Friendly Fraser Fields.”

The driveway is gravel, the parking lot too, so Louis has to drive up slowly to avoid picking up the rocks in his tires and flinging them in every direction. Rosie practically bounces in her car seat, impatience and excitement rolling off her in waves.

He finds a spot near the front, just a couple of yards from the store, and climbs out. Rosie's eyes are as big as coke bottles when he opens the door to get her out. “I’m so excited to get a tree, Daddy.”

Louis smiles and unbuckles her, “I know, little girl. Me too.”

With her tiny pink mittened hand in his, they head to the store, Rosie hopping alongside him. A wide plank porch wraps around the building, with a few benches and, what appears to be, somewhere around two dozen cats in various states of rest, lying about in warm spots of Sun and glancing up with a lazy meow whenever someone gets close enough. It’s a testament to Rosie’s excitement that she only stops to pet three, before dragging Louis inside.

It’s a little crowded in the tiny store, so Louis keeps Rosie close to his side and brings her to the back of the line, taking in their surroundings. There are only two rows of merchandise. It’s actually more than he’d assume there would be in a place like this. After all, everyone should be here to buy the trees. The shelves are packed full of things like candles in hand-painted jars, coffee mugs with sparkly little phrases, and scented pine cones. Louis supposes they fit the theme of a Christmas tree farm.

The line moves swiftly, and soon they are at the counter. Suddenly, Louis is staring at an incredibly handsome man in an incredibly hideous Reindeer sweater.

“Welcome to Friendly Fraser,” the man says warmly, looking between Rosie and Louis. A curl falls from the loose bun at the top of his head, and he brushes it aside, “My name is Harry, how can I help you?”

Rosie, unaffected by dimples and sharp jawlines, pipes up first, “My name is Rosie and Daddy brought me in the car so that we can have our very first Christmas tree! We had to drive north and then northwest to get here. But it wasn’t very far. Did you know that your farm is northwest of town?”

Harry listens intently to Rosie’s speech, face intent, and kind. Usually, adults tend to stop listening after a bit and miss their cue to respond, but as soon as Rosie is finished, Harry nods.

“I did. My Mom lives in town,” Harry glances up at Louis quickly, then returns his attention to Rosie, “Your first tree ever? You must be very excited.”

“I am,” Rosie squeaks, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, “The National Christmas Tree Association says that Fraser Firs can grow up to 80 feet tall!”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he looks up at Louis again, surprised this time. “That’s true Rosie, how did you know that?”

“I read it,” Rosie answers matter of factly. Louis stifles a laugh, this never gets old. “I read all the time. Daddy says I’ve got gifts.”

Louis glances down, smiling, “Gifted, you’re gifted.”

Rosie nods, unperturbed by the correction, “Yeah, I’m gifted.”

Harry’s smile somehow grows, practically taking over his whole face, “That sounds about right.”

“But Daddy says, the real gift is actually me,” Rosie continues on easily, eyeing the merchandise on the wall behind Harry, “Cause we love each other so much.”

“Oh,” Harry says quietly. At the tone of his voice, Louis looks up quickly. Harry turns his face to the side a bit; Louis thinks he sees a tear in his eye, “That’s very sweet.”

Louis shifts his weight on his feet, feeling a little guilty for supplying his daughter with the ammunition to make a grown man cry in his own store. “So, how does this process work?”

Harry clears his throat and faces them again, “Well, usually I would give you two a wagon and a saw,” he points to the hand saws by the door, and Rosie tilts her head at them with a furrowed brow, “And then you’d go pick one out, and bring it back here, and I’d ring it up for you. But since it’s your first time, and I’ve got back up, what do you say I go with you?”

Rosie perks up at that, turning from the saws she’d been eyeing and nodding quickly. “Yes, please! You’re very big. I bet you can see all the trees, even the ones far away, and you can help us pick the very best one.”

“Well, I don’t want to put you out,” Louis says, which is partly true. He’d also like to not find himself face planting over a tree stump because he can’t take his eyes off him. “And I’m plenty big enough to see the trees, Rosie.”

Rosie smiles at Louis placatingly and pats his hand, “Yes Daddy, you’re very big.”

Harry honks out a laugh so loud, Louis instantly forgets any regret or guilt for having caused his discomfort. His face must show it because Harry muffles the laugh with his hand over his mouth, and turns toward the back of the store.

“Zaynie,” he yells, “Can you come up?”

There’s a slamming noise from the other side of the wall, and then Louis realizes the wall is actually a door. It slides open, revealing a large storage area. A darker, no less breathtakingly handsome man stands on the other side. Louis furrows his brow. Are all Christmas tree farms like this?

The man steps through and slides the door closed again. Dark jeans and flannel cover his slight body, but the sleeves are pushed up a bit and Louis can see tattoos coloring his skin.

“Don’t call me that,” he says when he gets to the counter, glaring at Harry. Turning to Louis, his face softens a bit. When he spots Rosie he practically melts, “Hello there. Here to get a Christmas tree?”

Rosie nods, beaming, “Mr. Harry is gonna help us pick the very best one!”

“Very serious business,” he says solemnly, “What’s your name?”

Rosie sticks out her hand; his face transforms into surprised delight. “I’m Rosie, nice to meet you Mr. Zaynie!”

“Zayn,” He says quickly, flashing a quick narrow-eyed glance at Harry, who is making noises like he’s desperately trying to hold in a laugh, “My name is Zayn.”

“Oh, Okay,” Rosie says easily, shrugging, “This is my Daddy, his name is Louis. It kind of sounds like Zaynie, ‘cause it rhymes. But, I can call you Mr. Zayn if it hurts your feelings. You should always be careful with people's feelings.”

Zayn blinks, looking between Louis’ smirk and Rosie’s wide, innocent eyes. “Uh, actually, Rosie,” he rubs his hand on the back of his neck, “I’d love for you to call me Zaynie. It’s a great nickname. It- it doesn’t hurt my feelings.”

Louis rolls his eyes fondly at his daughter’s ability to wrap even the most stoic around her little finger. He turns to Harry, “Maybe we should get going before Rosie renames the rest of the staff?”

Harry’s eyes twinkle, “Probably a good idea,” he turns to Zayn and motions to the cash register, “Can you take over for a bit. It’s dead in here now, but who knows when the next tide will come through.”

They switch positions quickly, only pausing for a second when Zayn pinches Harry on his side, making him yelp. Harry’s still rubbing it when they head out to the field with all their gear in tow.

The air is brisk, but not uncomfortable, and smells of pine trees and apple cider. As they walk through the rows, Rosie tugs free and runs ahead just a few feet, turning this way and that, staring around. Louis watches her with a warm smile, tugging his collar up around his neck.

“The first real tree is a big deal,” Harry says, nudging his head in Rosie’s direction, “She’s pretty pumped.”

Louis shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles, “I’m a little pumped too actually.”

“Never had a real one?

Louis shakes his head, “Mom had one of those plastic ones that took forever to piece together,” he mimes fitting together puzzles pieces, “You know, with color coding and a thousand different pieces.”

Harry chuckles, “Yeah I know-”

Louis looks over at Harry, confused by the abrupt stop to his sentence, and sees him looking towards Rosie with a worried expression. Instantly, Louis’ head snaps around.

She’s standing stock still, staring at a family two trees up in the row. The Mother and child are standing to the side while the Dad lays on his side, sawing at the bottom.

“Rosie?” Louis calls, quickening his pace. She turns to look at him slowly, and Louis’ heart plummets.

He is such a bad Dad. How could he not see this coming? How could he not know? This is going to be worse than the frozen chicken finger situation.

“Rosie, honey,” Louis says gently when they get to her, “What’s wrong?”

She turns to Harry, sunlight glistening off the wet of her eyes. “Nutrients travel through the roots and trunk of a tree to reach the other parts of the tree and keep it alive.”

Harry nods slowly, probably still not used to Rosie’s tendency to reiterate facts verbatim, glancing at Louis and then back again. “Yeah- um. Yes, that’s true.”

Rosie sucks in a shuddering breath and just one teardrop rolls down her cheek. Louis’ heart shatters, he wants to hold her, but she’d push him away right now.

“Trees can’t live without their roots,” Her lip quivers, “You’re _killing_ them. They’re supposed to grow 80 feet tall!”

“Oh,” Harry breathes.

Louis sighs, “Rosie. You’re right,” He kneels down and looks her in the eye, “Christmas trees die. After Christmas, you put them outside and someone comes and collects them. If you don’t want that, I understand. We can get a pretty, plastic one.”

Rosie nods, more tears spilling over now. Harry clears his throat.

“Actually, I think I have a solution.”

Twenty minutes later, Louis and Harry are watching a man named Liam use an excavator to dig up a tree. Rosie, in a little hard hat, is sitting in the tractor with him, supervising.

“So, does Liam do this often?” Louis asks, “Dig up trees for little girls?”

“Lima bean, please,” Harry corrects with a stern expression, “We take our name changes very seriously around here.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. One day Rosie is going to take over the world. “Sorry, is this part of Lima Beans usual day on the job?”

The ground shakes a little and Harry turns away to watch their progress, “Nah, but it’s not like it’s a huge sacrifice. We’ll just wrap up the end and after Christmas, you can plant it.”

“I’m not sure I have the right equipment to plant a tree in my yard.”

Harry shrugs, “We’ll figure it out.”

With a loud groan from the excavator, Liam gets the tree up and out of the ground, raising it in the bucket. Rosie claps and cheers in the seat, hugging Liam. Even from a distance, Louis can see Liam is overjoyed with her reaction.

“Shit,” Louis breathes, staring at the tree, “It’s huge. I can’t get that on top of my car.”

Harry starts walking towards Liam, “No, I’m going to drop it off in my truck.”

Louis hurries to catch up with him, grabbing his arm and stopping him before they get in Rosie’s earshot. “Um. I don’t - I can’t really afford home delivery.”

Harry furrows his brow, “Afford- Oh. No, no. I’m not going to charge you. It’s fine. It’s on the house.”

Louis gapes. “That's- Harry, I can’t ask that of you.”

The door of the tractor creaks open and Rosie’s voice spills out. She’s talking a mile a minute, telling Liam seemingly every fact there is about Christmas tree tradition. Harry looks over to her and then back to Louis.

“You’re not asking, I’m offering,” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugs again, “Like I said, the first Christmas tree is a big deal.”

Louis looks over at Liam and Rosie. He’s squatting down in front of her while she talks, looking absolutely enthralled by every word she says. Louis can practically see the excitement twinkling around her like fairy lights.

“Thanks.” He looks at Harry in the eye, “Really. Thank you.”

Harry’s cheeks tinge pink and then he winks, “Don’t mention it.”

Rosie is more subdued on the ride home. She’s been up since 5 am, excited to get the tree, so it’s partially exhaustion. But, catching glimpses of her expression in the rearview mirror, Louis knows she’s deep in thought.

It’s part of the way her brain works, she’d told him once. It’s like her own movie. She’s playing back everything that’s happened today, and filing it away for later. It always leads to seemingly random epiphanies over plates of spaghetti, or just after brushing her teeth, sometimes just as he’s tucking her in and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

At a stoplight, he finds himself doing some retrospective thinking of his own. Instead of going over one of his fifty or so mental to-do lists, his mind drifts to Harry’s dimples, the way his whole face changed when he smiled, how some of the pine trees almost matched the green of his eyes perfectly. It’s- well it’s annoying is what it is. He can’t spend all his time thinking about some tree farmer with broad shoulders, he’s got bigger fish to fry. Girl Scout meetings, homework charts, client lists, lots and lots of very large fish sitting around waiting to be fried.

The car behind him honks, it’s driver leans out of his open window and shouts something, waving his fist around, and Louis jerks out of his reverie. Shaking his head at himself, he drives on, glancing in the rearview. Rosie is slumped over in her seat, dead to the world. Kids have it made in that regard, don’t they? Louis would anything to have a good nap every once in a while.

In her sleep, Rosie sniffles and shifts around in her seat, curling up a little. Louis looks at her and smiles.

Well, he corrects, almost anything.

* * *

On that drive home, Louis takes any interest he has in Harry, folds it up, shoves it into a little bottle and files it away in a dark corner somewhere in the back of his mind, to never be seen or heard from again. And, like every other half-baked coping mechanism Louis has, it works for a while.

Two days to be exact.

Right up until Tuesday morning. When, wearing fuzzy socks, his worst pair of glasses, and only halfway through his first cup of coffee, he looks up at the sound of knocking on his back door and sees Harry standing on the other side of it.

Startled, and a little embarrassed about what he’s sure is an awful case of bedhead, Louis opens the door quickly.

“Hey, um. Come in,” Louis holds the door open for him, standing to the side.

“Hey,” Harry’s says hesitantly, wiping his boots on the carpet before stepping in. He’s wearing a flannel and jeans, much more toned down than the outfit he’d had on at the farm. Strangely, Louis finds himself missing the bright shirt. “Brought the tree. We said Tuesday right?”

“Yes, yeah,” Louis closes the door behind Harry and moves around him. Standing across from him in the little kitchen, he tries to figure out what to do with his arms. He settles on crossing them. “Tuesday is perfect. Today. Today is perfect.”

Harry eyes him a little curiously for a second, “Okay, great.”

Louis nods, thoroughly annoyed with the way his nerves have frayed. It’s like the attraction had been brewing in that stupid bottle, and now that Harry’s standing in his kitchen, the cap has blown off like a shaken coke bottle and is flying around the room. They stand in silence, Harry looking around the kitchen comfortably, Louis trying to recall every social interaction he’s ever had so he can get a clue on what to do next.

Oh. Manners. Right.

“Coffee!” Louis practically shouts, startling Harry visibly. Louis winces and tries again, less like a crazed maniac, “Would you like coffee?”

Harry rocks forward on the balls of his feet, smiling warmly. He shakes his head.

“No, that’s alright. I’ve got a thermos in the truck,” he glances down the hall, in the direction of the family room, “Is Rosie home?”

“Already at school,” Louis says, relaxing immediately into the subject of his daughter, the one thing that will never feel awkward for him, “She takes the bus. Kindergarten.”

Harry lets out a low whistle that makes Louis smile.

“Big girl on a bus,” Harry shakes his head, “I would be a bucket of nerves.”

“Oh believe me. I paced about five miles around the house the first day. I’m pretty sure I wore a rut in the floor.”

Harry laughs at that, a warm pleasing little chuckle that does weird things to Louis’ insides. Then they lapse back into an awkward silence for a bit until Harry clears his throat, saving them.

“So, I’ll just bring the tree in, if that’s alright? Did you pick a spot for it?”

“Yeah, we cleared a space away from any heating vents like you said,” Louis says, “Do you- Should I help you carry it in?”

Harry waves him away, already tugging his hood up. “Nah, no worries. Liam’s in the truck making some phone calls to vendors. He’s gonna help.”

“Oh, alright then.”

Harry gives him one last smile and then he’s gone, with the screen door swinging behind him.

Louis starts a fresh cup of coffee, it seems like a two pot kind of day already. The machines only just started to drip when the sound of heavy rainfall hitting the windows yanks Louis’ attention away.

“Shit,” he mumbles, quickly bending down and rifling through the cabinets in search of the large pots. He hadn’t even realized it was cloudy out.

When Harry comes back through the door, soaking wet, and towing half a Christmas tree and a whole Liam behind him, Louis’ pots are already pinging with raindrops falling from the leaks in the ceiling.

He directs them to the family room, staying behind in the kitchen instead of trying to squeeze down the narrow hall with them. They don’t need him in there anyway, there’s not much room in the little cottage, it’s not like they could pick the wrong corner.

While he’s readying himself another cup of coffee, Harry and Liam reappear in the kitchen.

“This is a really cute place,” Liam says with a genuine smile. He points to the framed stick figure painting on the wall by the door, “Really like the original pieces.”

“I’ll give my regards to the artist,” Louis says, with a smile just a genuine, “Thanks for bringing the tree over. She’s gonna lose her mind when she gets home.”

“No big deal. I’m glad to help,” his phone dings in his pocket and he groans, “That’s another vendor, I bet. I gotta get this, it was nice seeing you again Lou.”

Louis thanks him again and lets out a little squeak in surprise, when Liam ignores his outstretched hand and goes in for a hug instead.

“Alright, Liam,” Harry says, rolling his eyes, “Don’t smother him.”

“That’s okay,” Louis says, a little muffled by Liam’s shoulder, “I love a good cuddle.”

Liam squeezes him once more before releasing him and turning to Harry, the look on his face pointed, “See, _some_ people enjoy affection.”

In a show of incredible maturity, Harry blows a raspberry at him. Louis laughs in surprise, and then again a little harder when Liam flounces out of the door, flipping imaginary hair over his shoulder on the way.

Harry watches him go, shaking his head and then turns back to Louis. He hesitates for a second, and then, “So, what’s with the pots?”

Louis drops his smile. “They’re catching water.”

Harry snorts, “Yeah, no, I got that part,” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and tilts his head, “I mean, does the roof always leak?”

Louis forces his ego down, this is obviously not an attack on his character for god's sake, the man is just asking a question. “Only when it rains.”

Harry has dimples even when he smirks.

“Fair enough,” he heads for the door and Louis pushes off from the counter, following after him. Harry pauses with his hand on the frame, “Don’t forget to water the tree every day. It’s actually good that you waited until just before Christmas, it’ll only last about ten to thirteen days and then it’s got to be planted.”

“I knew my powers of procrastination would come in handy one day.”

Harry laughs again, loudly, like Louis is the funniest person he’s ever met. It’s not terrible for Louis’ ego.

“Alright,” Harry swings open the door and looks back, “See you around Louis.”

From the door, Louis watches him jog down the steps and across the yard, jumping over a puddle at the end of the walk. Harry backs the truck out of the driveway slowly and waves once more before turning out and heading down the road.

As his tail lights disappear, Louis reminds himself that he doesn’t have time to stand around in doorways like a Disney princess in a tower. With a sigh, he turns away from the door, just in time to witness the birth of a brand new leak on the ceiling. For a few defeated moments, he watches water drip steadily onto the floor. Then, he walks over to the counter, takes a gulp of lukewarm coffee, and finds another pot.

The fish aren’t gonna fry themselves.

* * *

Thursdays are a busy day in Louis’ world. There’s getting Rosie up and off to school, back to back clients from 9 - 12, a bit of break for a quick lunch, and then grocery shopping, putting away all the groceries, cleaning up the house a bit, and then Rosie’s home at three.

It’s because of the hectic nature of the day, and the way the need to get fifteen things done in as many minutes keeps a running to-do list circulating in his brain, that he doesn’t realize there is a man on his roof until he’s about two feet from the back door.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Louis shouts. He scrambles back a few steps, trying desperately to keep the paper bags of groceries from crashing to the ground. Plastic bags would be easier to hold onto, but last year Rosie read about environmental preservation and sea turtles, so. “What are you doing?”

Harry leans back on his haunches, raising a brow, “Hammering.”

“ _Why_?”

“Well,” Harry takes off one of his work gloves and wipes his forehead with it. He’s wearing a thermal that looks like it might be from Baby Gap, what with the way it’s stretching across his biceps, “I tried asking nicely, but the shingles just don’t seem to listen.”

Louis huffs. The man is on his roof, but Louis is the one being irrational? He turns and looks at the driveway, where only his old Subaru is parked, and then the street, where no cars are parked at all.

“How?” Louis can’t seem to figure out how to ask more than monosyllabic questions, but that’s an issue he’ll have to deal with later.

“Newton’s third law of motion.”

“Yes, but-” Louis narrows his eyes, “What? What are you talking about?”

Harry, who still has yet to come down from the roof, shifts from crouching to sitting, and leans back on one of his hands, “I swing my arm, smack the hammer on the nail, the nail smacks back into the hammer, but goes into the shingle too.”

For fifteen solid seconds, Louis stares at Harry, mouth gaping.

On the sixteenth second, he gets it together. “I’m not asking you about the physics! I’m asking you why you are on my roof and how you got here without your truck.”

“You have a leak in your roof, and I know how to fix it,” Harry says simply, with a little shrug, “And I didn’t get here without my truck, Zayn is out getting drywall for the ceiling.”

The bags are getting really heavy now, and it’s a little cold for the flimsy coat Louis has on, and Harry is on his _roof_. “I - but-”

“Why don’t you bring those bags in and I’ll climb down and come talk to you,” Harry suggests, already standing and making his way towards the ladder, “If you hold on a minute, I’ll show you an example of Newton’s law of universal gravity-”

Louis rolls his eyes and walks into the house. The small kitchen is spotless. As a kid, his Mother had practically ironed into him the importance of always being ready for unexpected company. He’s grateful for it now, but somehow he doesn’t think this is really what she’d had in mind.

Quickly, he starts putting away the perishable stuff, while he waits for Harry to come in. It’s a little calming, the monotony of putting things away, but also distracting, so he hasn’t reordered his thoughts by the time Harry comes in, screen door softly banging behind.

“I don’t think I know anyone who grocery shops on Thursdays,” Harry says, sliding into one of the kitchen chairs easily. Like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Louis grabs the bread, puts it in the box and shrugs, “I don’t run any errands on the weekends. I spend all that time with Rosie.”

Harry nods and glances over at the coffee maker, “Any chance you’re planning on making a pot?”

Louis pauses in the middle of putting cereal above the fridge, and turns to the counter, “Caffeine. Good idea.”

He sets up the grinds quickly, and while the machine drips he puts the rest of the groceries away. Harry sits in comfortable but watchful silence.

“How do you take it,” Louis asks, pouring coconut milk into his own mug and glancing up at Harry.

Harry glances at the coconut milk and back to Louis, “Light and sweet.”

Louis grabs the sugar from the pantry and pauses, “I don’t have milk or cream. We’re pretty much vegan. Is that okay?”

“Vegan. Sounds fancy,” Harry says, wiggling his eyebrows. It should look ridiculous, but it mostly just looks hot. That’s probably due to the fact that _he’s_ so annoyingly hot. “That’s fine.”

“Well, we weren’t always, and it wasn’t something I had even thought about before Rosie,” Louis explains while he fixes the coffee for Harry, and then sits across from him, warm mug of coffee between his palms, “But, just imagine the Christmas tree reaction, about 17 times bigger, in the middle of the frozen food aisle.”

Harry's eyes go round and Louis laughs, “Yeah, exactly. So it’s vegan for us, and anything that we can’t swing, we get from a humane source.”

“You’re a good dad,” Harry says matter of factly.

“I do my best,” Louis shrugs, trying and failing to ignore the warm feeling Harry’s praise gives him. “So, the roof?”

Harry takes a sip of coffee, too quickly if his wince is anything to go by. “I noticed you had a couple leaks. The farm is slow now that it’s so close to Christmas. Z and I have the tools and the time..”

He lets his sentence peter off with a shrug and Louis shakes his head. “I can’t afford to have the roof repaired, Harry. Hence the pot system.”

“Good thing I didn’t bring my invoice book,” Harry says quietly. He takes another sip of coffee, watching Louis over the lip.

Louis looks away first, dropping his eyes to the table and fiddling with his cup. He’s a little out of his element here. It’s not every day a person comes along and decides they want to play white knight. Well, not for Louis anyway.

“If you overthink this anymore, smoke is going to start pouring out of your ears,” Harry says, tone dry, but tinged with laughter. Louis looks up. “It’s not a big deal, Lou. I grew up with a single Mom, sometimes the help we got was enough to pull us out of some deep holes. I have time, I have some skills, I want to help.”

“I feel kind of shitty,” Louis admits with a shrug and then a hasty sip of coffee, “I don’t have anything to offer you-”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Harry interrupts firmly, but gently.

Louis shifts in his chair, still uncomfortable, but not really sure what argument to make or why he feels he needs to make one.

A gentle rap at his back door stops him from figuring it out. He looks up and blinks in surprise. He’d forgotten all about Zayn.

“Come in, come in,” Louis says quickly, rushing to the door to open it for him.

“Hey,” Zayn greets quietly, hauling in a large square of sheetrock in one hand and a toolbox in the other. He nods his head to Harry in greeting and turns back to Louis, “I heard you have a ceiling leak?”

Louis nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans and watching Zayn put his stuff down, “Yeah, a couple actually.”

Zayn inspects the ceiling with narrowed eyes. “You done fixing the roof, H?” he asks, eyes still on the discoloration.

“Almost,” Harry says, fixing Louis with a smirk, “Louis dragged me off and sat me down. He’s trying to figure me out, I think.”

Zayn smiles and scrunches his nose, which makes his face about ten times more gentle and open than just ten seconds prior, and shakes his head at Louis, “Good luck with that, Bro.”

“Yup,” Harry says, popping the P goofily, “I’m a man of mystery. An enigma.”

“An idiot,” Zayn adds from the floor, where he’s started arranging his tools.

Louis laughs, at both the dig and the scandalized expression on Harry’s face. “Alright, alright, get back on the roof Batman. It’s not gonna fix itself, is it?”

Harry stands up, “Now all of a sudden you’re a slave driver,” he shakes his head dramatically and pulls his gloves back on, “You’ve changed Louis. You’ve changed.”

Louis rolls his eyes, and Zayn mumbles something that sounds a lot like _and_ _the award goes to_ , but Harry’s already out of the kitchen and probably doesn’t notice either of them.

Not really sure what to do with himself, Louis sits back down at the table and watches Zayn get organized. “Do you need anything?”

“Hmmm?” Zayn glances up at him for a second and then back down, digging in his toolbox, “Oh, yeah. A ladder would be great if you’ve got one.”

He does have one, so he goes to the family room to get it. “Here you go, we were using it to decorate the Christmas tree last night.”

Zayn smiles and opens up the ladder, placing it below the largest water spot, “Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah, Rosie loved it,” Louis sits back down and watches Zayn climb the ladder. “Listen. I want to thank you for doing this for us. You guys are amazing.”

Zayn pokes at the water spot, frowning, “I’m amazing, Harry’s alright,” he climbs down and levels Louis with a serious look, “He’s Robin, just so you know.”

Louis nods solemnly, “I’m sorry for the mix-up.”

“No worries,” Zayn says graciously, “Everyone makes mistakes. Now, have you ever spackled?”

Louis looks down at the tools at Zayn’s feet apprehensively and back again, “Never in my life.”

Zayn smiles again, that warm gentle one, and spreads his arms wide, “Well, Louis, today is your lucky day.”

A couple of hours later, covered in dust, grime, and paint, Louis leans against the door frame of the house, waving them goodbye, and thinks he might just agree with that sentiment.

* * *

Two days before Christmas, Louis walks into his kitchen in search of his coffee cup and is only slightly surprised to see Harry standing there.

“Well, hello,” Louis says crossing his arms. His mouth goes dry at the sight of Harry’s jeans clinging to his thighs. He hopes it’s not noticeable, “Have we passed the point of knocking?”

Harry smiles sheepishly, shuffling his feet in his thoroughly worn work boots. His cheeks are pink, and Louis doesn’t know if that’s from the cold or embarrassment. “I was knocking for a while but I figured you couldn’t hear me.”

Louis waves him down, “Don’t worry about it, I’m just kidding. I was in the front room. What’s up?”

Harry closes the door behind him and drops his tool bag to the floor softly, “I noticed the fridge.”

Confused, Louis glances over at it. It’s in the same spot it’s been for years, large and white, with alphabet magnets scattered across it’s dinged up front. “Uh, yeah. It’s pretty hard to miss.”

“No,” Harry says with a snort, “I noticed the noise. She’s not feeling so well.”

Louis narrows his eyes. Harry’s a very strange person. “Did you just give my fridge a gender?”

Obviously intent on murdering Louis, Harry bites his bottom lip and does that little shuffle again, “Yes. But, not because I’m like..someone who does that? I had a Cuban babysitter growing up, so I think of a lot of words in Spanish first. Fridge is just a feminine word.”

Huh. “You speak Spanish?”

Harry shrugs, “Not perfectly, a lot of it is slang, but yeah.”

“Are you going to speak Spanish to it while you fix it?” Louis leans against the door frame and raises his brow, “Is that part of your process?”

Harry gives him a bland look and walks over to the fridge, pulling it out from its spot against the wall, “No it’s not part of my _process_.”

“That’s a shame,” Louis says, watching Harry pull off the back of the fridge and set it aside, “I’m right in the middle of something though, are you alright in here by yourself?”

“I was standing here by myself for at least five minutes just before,” Harry says, already pulling apart wires, “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of humor,” Louis points out, crossing his arms to avoid flicking Harry on his ear.

Harry looks up, smiling in a way that makes Louis stomach swoop, “I’ve heard that a time or two.”

They smile at each other for a few seconds, and then with a wink, Harry turns away. With Harry’s attention back on the tangle of wires, Louis goes back to the front room. He’s been sorting through his music binders, trying to organize the mess that's accumulated throughout the year, and locate a few pieces he knows he’s got somewhere.

He curls up in the middle of the floor, surrounded by sheet music, and get’s a little wrapped up in his work. He doesn’t realize Harry’s in the room until he’s right next to him.

Louis glances up quickly, “All done?”

Harry nods, eyes locked on the piano in the corner, “Do you play?”

It dawns on Louis that they haven’t ever had a conversation about what he does for a living. They haven’t had very many conversations at all, for that matter. But, somehow they still have this friendship that feels as natural as anything.

“No, well, yes. Just not very much anymore,” Louis stands, running a hand through his hair, “I teach.”

Harry turns to him with a wide smile, eyes bright, “Do you?”

Louis nods and gestures to the music spread across the floor, “I’m making up workbooks for some of my students that are taking time off for the holidays. I’m trying anyway, it’s a little messy right now.”

Harry’s eyes flick from the music to the piano and back to Louis, “Can you teach me?”

Louis blinks, “Teach you to play?”

The look on Harry’s face shifts to something like guilt, “Yeah. Is that rude? To ask you to teach me when people pay you for that? I can pay-”

“Harry,” Louis cuts him off firmly, “You literally climbed on my roof to patch it and just got done fixing my fridge, sit the fuck down on the piano bench.”

Harry goes, walking quickly in his excitement. Louis is hopelessly endeared. He takes a breath and tries to mentally screw his head on straight before going over and sitting down next to him.

“Okay, first thing,” Louis says gently, slipping into teaching mode seamlessly, “We’ve got to fix your posture. Roll your shoulders back, like this.”

Louis rolls his shoulders up towards his ears and then forward, loosening them up. Harry mimics him with an intense look of concentration. It’s disgustingly adorable.

“Like this?”

“Mmhmm,” Louis confirms, “You need them nice and relaxed. And your neck too. Look forward, chin straight ahead, and release all the tension in your neck. A relaxed body is a connected body. You don’t want to force the music.”

Harry does as he’s told and Louis smiles, pleased. “Perfect. Now, fingers on the keys, right here. Keep your wrists above the keys and bend your elbows just a bit.”

Without thinking, Louis reaches out and adjusts the angle of Harry’s elbow, with one hand on his bicep. He stares at the muscle under his hand for a moment, until Harry shifts a little on the bench. Louis looks away quickly and clears his throat.

“Okay, right,” he hurries on, praying his face isn’t beet red, “Now we identify your fingers.”

“I know this part,” Harry pipes up in a tone of voice that sounds suspiciously like the tone Rosie uses before a knock-knock joke, “This one's thumbkin.”

Louis groans loudly, for effect, and shakes his head, “I’m glad you remember kindergarten so vividly.” He holds his hand up between them and points to his thumb, “One through five, thumb to pinkie, and then it starts on the other hand. Thumb is one again. Got it?”

“Mhmm. Got it,” Harry says, “What’s next?”

Louis smirks at his impatience, “Next we learn the C scale. It’s only the white keys, okay? So just put your right hand here.”

Louis puts his hand on the keys and then gestures for Harry to follow his example. He does, immediately, but he covers far more space on the keyboard than Louis had, due to his giant hands. Louis corrects his positioning and then lets go of his hand quickly.

“There we go, now,” Louis points to Harry’s thumb, “This is C. Your pattern for this scale is CDEFGABC. So, play C, D, E, the white keys right in a row there, with fingers 1, 2, 3.”

Harry presses the keys, but instead of smashing them like most first time players, the sound is so quiet, it’s almost nonexistent.

Louis furrows his brow and looks over to Harry, “You need to press a little harder. Have you ever seen a cat do that kneading thing? That’s what you want to do.”

Harry bites his lip and glances at Louis quickly, “I don’t want to break it.”

Louis’ brows shoot up towards his hairline, “You won’t. You’re not the hulk, Harry.”

With a snort, Harry turns back to the keys and tries again. He presses more firmly this time and plays the three keys perfectly.

“There we go,” Louis says, smiling at the pride he can see plainly on Harry’s face, “Now comes the tricky part. Slide your thumb under finger two and three, and play F.”

Screwing up his face in concentration, Harry moves his thumb and presses on the key, and then pauses, “Good?”

“Yup,” Louis nods. “Now let your other fingers fall on the white keys, just in order like that. Now play as I count off. The second finger plays G, third finger on A, fourth finger on B, and the fifth finger on C.”

Harry gets to the last key and snaps his head to Louis, grinning, “I did it?”

“Are you asking me?” Louis smiles, “What do you think?”

Harry’s face shifts into an expression Louis’ never seen him wear, and it takes him a second to realize it’s self-doubt. Harry bites his bottom lip, “I don’t understand.”

Seeing Harry devoid of his usual confidence has the unfortunate effect of making Louis want to haul him across the bench and pull him into his lap. He does his gods honest best to at least pretend he’s a grown man with impulse control.

“Piano, music really, can get very technical if you let it. I can sit here with you for the next three days breaking down theory. But, the most important thing you need is trust. You have to trust yourself.”

Harry looks no less confused, but a little more eager, so Louis figures that’s a step in the right direction. Plus he’s not kissing him forcefully, that’s got to be another ten points for team self-control.

“Here, listen to this,” Louis waves Harry’s hand away, and plays the scale back, stopping short at E, “What do you want when I play that?”

Harry stares down at the keys and then up at Louis. He shakes his head and there’s that face again, frustration and self-doubt, “I can’t-“

“We don’t use that phrase in this house,” Louis says firmly. Looking at Harry in the eye, he gentles his tone, “You can. Close your eyes for me and listen.”

Harry’s eyes close without a second's hesitation and the implicit trust in that does things to Louis that he can’t afford to think about while sitting so close to him.

Louis plays the scale, stopping again at E. Harry keeps his eyes closed, but his middle finger twitches in his lap and Louis smiles, “What do you want when you hear that. Trust your ear. What do you want?”

Harry slowly opens his eyes. The heat shining in them is evident and sudden, Louis almost gasps, he might in fact. He can’t tell over the sound of his heart slamming against his rib cage. And then Harry’s mouth moves, his pink lips pursing before he says, “More.”

Louis can’t breathe, his lungs have collapsed or there’s no air in the room or he’s having a panic attack, whichever, but something is happening. Because Harry’s eyes are so green and he’s sitting so close and Louis can’t _breathe_.

And then Harry leans back, just an inch and the spell is broken. “Can we do the whole scale again?”

Rescued from the risk of sudden death by asphyxiation, Louis helps him navigate his way back through the scale, just as he’d done the first time. Harry’s more confident now that he’s done it once, and it sends a familiar feeling of pride through Louis. It’s one of the best feelings, Louis thinks, watching people discover they can do something new like this.

“That’s it,” Louis says, turning to Harry on the bench, “From here, you’ll need to learn it on your left hand. And then chords. I’ve got a lesson in about half an hour, or I would show you more.”

Harry shakes his head, positively beaming, “This is so awesome. Can you teach me again? More I mean?”

Louis looks at the way Harry’s eyes seem to be twinkling and wonders if there is anyone in the world who could say no to him right now. “Sure, of course, I can. We’ll fit you into the schedule somewhere.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, sounding genuine and sincere, “I really do think this is so awesome.”

“I can tell,” Louis’ says kindly. He stands up and looks around the room, more to avoid staring at Harry than anything else. ”I’d better be getting finished with this mess.”

Still on the bench, Harry pouts prettily, “I’ve got to meet someone in town today. I’ll probably be late as it is, or I’d stay and help you.

Louis isn’t disappointed. That would be ridiculous, Harry probably can’t even read music. He’d be no help at all. Just a distraction.

A tall, beautiful, deep-voiced, chiseled jaw distraction. What was Louis doing again? Oh, right, “No worries, you’ve done more than your fair share of helping me.”

Harry stands slowly from the piano bench, looking like he’d much rather stay put and shoves a hand in his back pocket. He pulls out his phone. He shuffles his feet, which Louis nows recognizes as his go-to nervous dance move, and then clears his throat.

“I was thinking maybe we should exchange numbers,” Harry asks, dragging his hand through his hair and tossing it to the side, “You know, in case you don’t hear me knocking. Or if you can fit me in your schedule, or maybe something could happen? Like what if there’s a bear in your yard and you call everyone you know, but no one picks up, and it starts coming towards the house-”

Louis‘ jaw drops open, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone ramble that much, at that slow of a pace. That’s impressive.”

He takes the phone, while Harry stands there blushing and looking bashful, and plugs his number in. “There. I really hope you know how to deal with bears.”

Harry blinks and then tilts his head, “Actually, when I was ten I went on this camping trip in the forest and-”

Louis holds up a hand, “Easy killer, I’ve got a five-year-old. I’ve only got enough space in my brain for so many long-winded stories a day.”

Harry shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

They walk together back through the house to the kitchen. Harry stays just a step too near for friendly distance, something that Louis thinks is just another one of his quirks. It turns his insides into soup, the feeling of him so close, the smell of him _right_ there, but that’s Louis’ problem.

Harry stands in the doorway and smiles at Louis, “Well, in case I don’t see you before then, have a Merry Christmas, Lou.”

“Merry Christmas, Robin.”

Harry narrows his eyes, dropping his smile. “Zayn is hereby banned from this house.”

Louis laughs, tossing his head back. When looks back at Harry, he’s smiling at him warmly. Louis shakes his head, “Got it. No bears, no Zayn.”

Harry leaves the house, shaking his head, and mumbling about treacherous friends. Louis makes himself a cup of coffee and goes back into the front room to tackle the mess.

His mind drifts every couple minutes to the joy on Harry’s face when he’d been sitting on the piano bench, the heat that Louis had probably only imagined, and Louis lets it.

After all, it’s almost Christmas.

* * *

When Rosie’s fuzzy sock-clad feet hit the floor with a thud Christmas morning, and slide across the hardwood, clocking in somewhere around 100 mph, Louis is already waiting. Armed with an extra large cup of coffee, and chocolate chip pancakes, he sits at the kitchen table and counts down from fifteen in his head.

Rosie comes flying into the kitchen before he gets to three.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” she sings, flinging herself into his arms. She slaps back her bed fussed curls from her face and eyes the pancakes, “Those look yummy.”

“Merry Christmas, little girl,” he swats her away as she reaches for the plate, “Go get a fork and sit down, I’m not raising you in a barn, am I?”

Moving with the kind of urgency reserved exclusively for children faced with the prospect of sugar, Rosie grabs a fork from the drawer and hops into a chair, folding her legs under herself so she can reach properly.

“I like barns,” she announces, bouncing a little while Louis loads her plate with a pancake and cuts it up, “In the book Uncle Niall got me, it says that in the 18th-century people used to build barns all together, in a big group. It’s called a barn raising. And the Amlish people still do it! No machines at all.”

“Amish,” Louis corrects gently, “That’s true. But they don’t live in the barns, and they don’t speak with food in their mouths either.”

Rosie scrunches her nose and snaps her mouth shut, chewing probably too many pieces at a time. Louis shakes his head fondly and takes a sip of coffee, watching her. History dictates this conversation is just getting started.

“Can we get a barn,” she asks, once she's finished her mouthful, “A red one?”

Louis tilts his head, “I don’t think we have a big enough yard for that.”

Syrup, far more than Louis usually allows, puddles on Rosie’s plate. She chases it with a fork full of pancake and rolls her eyes, apparently exasperated with him. “We’d have to move, Daddy.”

“Where would we move?” Louis plops another pancake on her plate, “Wouldn’t you be sad leaving this house?”

The tablecloth shifts as Rosie leans forward, tongue stuck between her teeth, trying to grab the syrup bottle. Louis holds the tablecloth in place with one hand and grabs the bottle with the other, pouring some more on the plate.

“Thank you,” Rosie answers immediately, and pauses with her fork over the plate, “We could move to where Mr. Harry lives. It’s okay if we move from this house because the family makes a house a home. Remember you said?”

Louis leans back in his chair, “I said that? Geez, I’m smart.”

Rosie giggles, spraying a few bits of pancake across the table. Louis cleans them up, while she looks contrite enough for him to almost buy it.

“How about, you finish your breakfast, we open presents, and then we can talk about the logistics of buying a farm later?”

With presents as motivation, the pancakes are done in 40 seconds flat. Rosie runs into the family room. Louis, leaving the dishes for later, tops off his coffee cup and heads after her, following the sound of crinkling wrapping paper and excited squeaking.

An hour later, surrounded by balls of red and green wrapping paper, and clutching a brand new book to her chest, Rosie looks up at him with her beautiful eyes in the exact shade of his blue.

“Did you get a present for Mr. Harry?”

Louis hadn’t thought to, but the question gives him pause. Should he have?

“No, I didn’t,” he answers, keeping his tone purposefully light and watching her face for a reaction.

She furrows her brow slightly, “What about Mr. Zaynie and Lima Bean?”

“No,” Louis crosses his ankle over his knee and pauses, “Did you want me to?”

Rosie shrugs, which very rarely means she doesn’t know and more often means she’s not sure how to get what she’s thinking out. It’s a hard thing, balancing the emotions of a five-year-old with the intellect of someone older, frustrating for her at times.

Louis waits patiently, keeping his body language relaxed and open.

“They’re my friends, I like them a lot,” Rosie says after a minute or two, “I think they would be happy.”

“I like them too,” Louis says with a reassuring smile. His thoughts flit to Harry’s smile and he beats them back into place, “Would you like to make them something?”

“Cookies!” Rosie says excitedly, “Do you think Uncle Niall will help me make cookies for them?”

“Absolutely, if you let him lick the bowl,” Louis says, “But, I can help you make cookies, little girl.”

Rosie looks to the right quickly and then back again, and Louis knows what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth, “That’s okay, Daddy. Uncle Niall can help me.”

One kitchen fire and you lose your daughter's faith in your ability to make baked goods for years. He can’t blame her, really. Learning from past experiences is a very good ability to have.

“Alright, that’s fine,” Louis says with a nod. Leaning forward, he rests his hands on his knees and wiggles his brows, “Now, what do you say to some hot cocoa?”

“Yeah!” Rosie shouts, clapping her hands and beaming.

At least he’s cornered the market in hot beverages.

* * *

The day after Christmas is officially ‘Get Spoiled Rotten by Grandma’ day in the Tomlinson family. It’s a nice little break for Louis, who loves the Holiday, but can’t help feeling like Christmas is a 24-hour long marathon of excitement, sugar, and mess. He’s just getting back into the house from dropping her off when his phone dings with a text message. He fishes it out of his coat pocket as he’s kicking off his snow boots and sees Harry’s name at the top of the screen.

_Why can’t the flower ride a bike?_

Another message comes in before Louis can respond.

_Cause his petals fell off!_

Louis rolls his eyes, but can’t help but grin at the sheer level of corny in Harry’s humor.

_That’s absolutely terrible. I should charge you for pain and suffering_

Harry sends back a string of kissy faces and hearts. A second later, he sends another message.

_But you loooove me_

Smiling widely, Louis shakes his head. “Yeah, I do,” he laughs to himself and then freezes. In a strange out of body experience, he’s looking down on himself, standing in the middle of his kitchen, smiling at his phone like a fool, and professing his love for Harry.

His hands start to shake so hard, he almost drops the phone. “Oh no. Oh no. No. No. No,” he whispers, “What have I done?”

Spinning around, he tosses his phone on to the counter and drags his hands over his face roughly, “Everything is fine. It’s fine. I don’t love Harry. I do not.”

He doesn’t love Harry, he can’t, because this isn’t a fucking Hallmark movie. Regular people in real life don’t fall in love with random tree farmers within three weeks. Then again, random tree farmers don’t show up at regular peoples homes to fix their roof and refrigerator and look beautiful in front of their pianos.

“Fuck!” Louis smacks his palm on the counter, “Just- Fuck!”

He feels uncomfortable, feels like the collar of his coat is choking him. He rips it off and tosses it to the ground, tugging at the first two buttons on his shirt until they pop free. He still feels closed in, claustrophobic, and he realizes it’s powerlessness that he’s feeling.

Control. Control is what he needs. He’d not paid close enough attention to his feelings and they’d crept up on him, taking over his brain while he was preoccupied with clients and wrapping paper. What he needs to do is take back control.

Stomping to the sink, he kneels down and grabs the cleaning kit from the cabinet below. He might not be able to fix the mess he’s made of his emotions, but he can control the mess in the house, and that’s what he’s going to do.

When Niall yells for him from the back door, Louis has no idea how long he’s been cleaning. He’s dripping sweat and covered in various products, on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floorboards in the front room.

“Back here,” he shouts, not looking up from his task. His fingers are red and raw at the tips. But, he just can’t stop himself.

Niall’s footsteps, heavy like he’s closer to three hundred pounds than his probable one fifty, announce his arrival into the room before his surprised groan.

“Whoa,” Niall says, “What’s going on here? Why are you panic cleaning?”

Louis glances up, flicking his hair from his face, “I’m just cleaning. I don’t panic clean, I don’t even know what that is.”

“Sure, sure,” Niall says, nodding. He sits down a love seat near the door and raises his brow, “That’s why I could smell pledge from a block out? Just normal, everyday, non-neurotic cleaning?”

Louis stares at the floorboard he’s scrubbing, intent on ignoring him and continuing, but he takes a breath and unfolds his legs, sitting up. “It’s a new scent, do you like it?”

“Yeah, I thought it was. What is it?”

Louis tosses him the bottle, “Orange. I think it’s nice.”

“Lemon reminds me of my grandma’s house,” Niall says, eyeing the bottle, “This is like summertime or something.”

“I think I’m in love.”

Niall looks up at him and crosses his ankle over his knee, completely relaxed. “With me? Took you long enough. Listen, at our wedding can we have one of those cakes that has a surprise back? You know like a white cake and a little bit of it is Spiderman or something.”

Louis throws the rag at his face, “No, you dick.”

Niall tosses the rag back, “Alright, alright. I’m fine with Superman, you don’t have to go Bridezilla on me.”

“It’s amazing that the few brain cells you have are capable of having you breathe and talk at the same time,” Louis grumbles. He puts his palms flat on the floor behind him and leans back, glaring at him.

“I am amazing, it’s true,” Niall says with a wide smile, “So, spit it out. Who’s got you all frazzled.”

Louis looks to the floor for a minute, collecting as much courage as he can muster. Admitting it to himself is one thing, but actually saying it out loud is a whole different ball game. But, if there’s anyone in the world he can say this to, it’s Niall.

When he looks back up, Niall’s expression is open and calm. He’s not said a word, all patience, and chill. It helps. It helps a lot.

“Remember I told you Rosie and I were going to that tree farm this year? A couple of weeks back? We met the owner while we were there.”

Niall nods, and a look of understanding comes over his face, “Oh, Harry?”

Louis jerks forward, staring at him in disbelief, “What? How do you know Harry?”

“Rosie told me about him,” he says with a shrug, “She didn’t say he was the owner, just that he saved your tree. Did you know that Christmas trees can grow up to 80 ft tall?”

“I did, funnily enough, seeing as my daughter is the keeper of all facts,” Louis runs a hand over his face, “Also, penguins have knees.”

Niall tilts his head, “Huh, that’s a cool one. Where? Like in there-” Niall gestures towards his stomach and Louis nods.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re like tucked away, that’s why they waddle.”

“Makes sense.” Niall waves his hand, encouraging Louis forward, “So, what’s the rest of the story with Harry? Rosie seems to love him.”

Louis sighs deeply, “Well. That makes two of us.”

Niall blinks, “Ah. I see.”

“So,” Louis says, “You understand the reason behind the panic cleaning, or whatever you called it.”

“Uh, no,” Niall says, shaking his head. “I understand that you think you’re in love with this Harry guy, but I’m not seeing the problem.”

Louis stands up, overcome with the need to pace. “You don’t see a problem with me being in love with a stranger while I have other things like a daughter and bills and _a life_ to worry about.”

“I mean,” Niall shrugs, “I feel like that’s kind of a thing people do?”

Louis stops and throws his hands in the air, “Yes, exactly. People. Not me. What happened when I tried that Niall, how well did that work?”

“So you think he’s like Cindy?”

Louis sucks his teeth and starts pacing again, “Do I think he’s the type of person to have a kid and leave them behind in the middle of the night? No. I’d like to think I can spot that type now.”

“So?”

Louis resists the urge to stomp, “So what?”

“So you’re scared.”

“No I’m pissed,” Louis yells, he turns and faces Niall, crossing his arms, “I’ve been in one relationship my whole life Niall, and the only good thing that came from that was Rosie. I didn’t even know I was gay until a year ago. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Without a word, Niall stands and walks out of the room. Louis follows after him, not bothering to ask where he’s going, he’s got a pretty good idea anyway.

They get to the kitchen and Niall gestures toward a chair, “Sit down.”

Louis huffs, “I don’t-”

“Sit.”

The steel in Niall’s tone rarely makes an appearance, but it’s not to be ignored when it does. Louis sits, only grumbling a little under his breath, and watches Niall start to make a pot of coffee.

Once it’s begun to brew, Niall turns and leans against the counter, “I think the first step would be to ask him on a date.”

Louis thinks maybe Niall isn’t as intelligent as he pretends to be. “Are you kidding me?”

“Is that a funny thing to say?” Niall tilts his head, watching him with a cocked brow.

“Putting aside the point that I have zero time for any kind of relationship,” Louis says, “I don’t even know if he’s attracted to me. I don’t even know if men find me attractive.”

Niall grabs two mugs from the cabinet and looks back at him appraisingly, “I find you attractive.”

Louis’ head is starting to hurt. “That’s all well and good, Niall. Thank you very much, honestly, from the bottom of my heart. But seeing as you’re a straight man, that’s of no use right now.”

Niall pours the coffee into the mugs, fixes them with coconut milk and sugar, and sits at the table with them, before responding, “Not really.”

“Not really, what?” Louis slumps forward and puts his chin in his hand. Now that he’s sitting it’s becoming apparent that he’s bone tired. “What does that mean?”

Niall slides Louis’ coffee cup across the table, “It means I’m not really straight.”

“Ha Ha,” Louis intones. He looks down at his coffee, swirling it around in his cup. Until a little too much time has gone by in silence. He glances back up at Niall and blinks. “Wait, are you being serious? Are you coming out right now?”

Niall leans back in his chair, taking his coffee with him, and looks contemplative, “I guess so. I never really put too much thought into it. My dick gets hard when it gets hard.”

Louis needs something stronger than coffee, probably. “So, you’re telling me you’re gay. And you didn’t think to tell me that when I was having a gay crisis?”

Niall takes an infuriatingly calm sip, “Not gay, bi I think. And nah, it’s never been a problem for me so why would I bring it up when you needed my support?”

Louis shakes his head, “Oh I don’t know, it might have made me feel less like I was completely alone.”

Niall narrows his eyes, “I haven’t left you on your own since second grade. It sounds a lot like you are trying to guilt me about not telling you about my sexuality, which I’m going to ignore because you’re in an emotional state. But, you sound like an asshole, just so you know.”

Louis lets out a breath and rubs his hand over his face, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Well anyway,” Niall says, waving it away, “I’m attracted to men, have been since high school, and I think you’re attractive. Even though I see you as a brother.”

Louis leans forward a little, interest piqued, “Who in high school?”

Niall rolls his eyes, but snorts, “I’m trying to have a serious conversation with you here.”

Louis puts on his second most serious face, “Of course, of course. Nevermind..”

They let the conversation drop, both drinking their coffee silently, the old clock on the wall ticks loudly. Louis takes a loud slurp if his coffee and smacks his lips together.

Niall cracks.

“Remember that transfer kid that played lacrosse,” Niall says, leaning forward a little like Louis had, “Bressie?”

Louis’ eyes go wide, “He was a monster. Jesus, he was built like a tree.”

“Might have given him a climb, or two,” Niall says, smiling dirtily.

Louis feels like he might pass out. “Unbelievable.”

“You know me,” Niall says, “Always an overachiever. Now, what are you going to do about Harry?”

Louis’ stomach drops. He’d somehow forgotten what they were talking about, so floored by Niall’s confession. But, now his anxiety ramps right back up to ten.

“Nothing. Talk to him. Nothing. I don’t know,” Louis says, just barely keeping it from coming out as a wail.

“Well, I think you should talk to him.” Niall says with finality, jabbing his finger in Louis’ direction, “And soon. You’re going to clean a hole right through the countertop.”

He’s right, of course. Even if Louis doesn’t want a relationship, (or does..or doesn’t.. _crap_ ), he and Harry are friends now. He can’t just avoid him forever, especially not with the way Rosie talks about him.

“Rosie wants to make him cookies,” Louis says, “She wants you to help. I could talk to him when I bring them over.”

Niall brightens, “Cookies? Hell yeah,” he makes a dreamy face, “Do you think she’ll let me lick the bowl this time?”

Louis rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “You obsession with getting as much raw cookie dough in your mouth as possible is disgusting.”

Niall brings his mug up to his mouth and smiles, “You should see how I am with a tree.”

Louis sighs, “I hope in my next life, I’m finally rid of you.”

“Not a chance,” Niall says with a wink, “Not a chance.” 

* * *

The drive to Friendly Frasers has a decidedly different feel to it, this time around. Without Rosie’s excited energy and running commentary from the backseat, Louis is left alone with his thoughts. And his thoughts keeping swirling around Harry, and all the anxiety that comes with Louis’ feelings for him. Even with the radio on and up to fifteen, Louis can’t think about anything else for long. By the time he pulls into the driveway, he’s a nervous wreck.

The gravel crunches noisily under his feet as he makes his way across the parking lot to the store. He pulls his collar up, protecting himself against the wind, and looks around. It’s strange seeing it so quiet after being here in the full swing of the season. It’s peaceful though, surrounded by the smell of pine and the sound of the wind whistling through the needles. It’s an entirely different feeling from that of being in town, like they’re in a whole other country, not twenty minutes away.

There’s a hand-painted sign on the door of the store that reads “Open”, it’s weathered and old, banging gently in the wind. Louis watches it for a second, feeling a kinship to it, feeling a little bruised and battered himself. Taking a deep breath, and with a quick glance at the cookie tin clutched tightly in his hand, Louis steels himself and walks into the shop.

Zayn is behind the till, he looks up with a professional smile, that warms considerably when he realizes its Louis, “Hey, Bro. Merry Christmas.”

“Hey, same to you,” Louis walks over to him, glancing around the store, “I come bearing cookies. Is Harry around?”

Eyeing the cookie tin, Zayn leans against the counter, “That depends.”

“On?”

“One: are the cookies just for H,” Zayn says, counting on his fingers, “Two: what kind of cookies are we talking about here, and three: if I tell you where he is, will you leave the cookies and never talk about them again?”

Zayn blinks his mile-long lashes slowly and makes some of the most beautiful puppy dog eyes Louis has ever seen in his life. But, Louis is a dad. Louis is a dad to a 5-year-old little girl with pigtails and bright blue eyes. Zayn has met his match.

“The cookies are for everyone,” Louis says, bringing out his Dad voice. “They are chocolate chip, and you may have two, but I’m taking the tin with me.”

Zayn sighs, “Fine. He’s in the barn, it’s behind here up the path just a little ways. You can’t miss it.”

Louis gives him two cookies for this trouble, and a hug when he still looks pouty, before heading back out of the store. He walks quickly up the winding dirt path, motivated by the biting breeze that blows through every couple of minutes. The sun is warm, but not enough against the cold air, so when he gets to the barn his cheeks sting and his ears are a little sore at the tips.

Zayn was right, the barn is huge and red, definitely not something that he, or anyone else, could miss. Louis shakes his head, as he looks it over, wondering when fate decided to make him it’s very own special project. He’ll have to let Rosie know about the barn when she gets home.

The door’s rolled open, so Louis walks in, hoping that he’s not intruding on anything. Fluorescent lights hang in a neat row from the ceiling. They flicker in the cold air and cast feeble light on the barn below. Louis makes his way down the dirt aisle, passing stalls with iron fronts that appear to all be empty. About halfway down, he spots Harry at the very last stall, kneeling at its entrance.

“Hey,” Louis calls, keeping his voice low. Something about the dim light and Harry’s posture feels delicate like it could all break apart in his palm if he held on too tightly.

Harry’s head swings up at the sound of Louis’ voice and his expression goes from startled to pleased in seconds, “Hey yourself. What are you doing here?”

“Rosie made you guys cookies,” Louis says, getting to Harry and peering inside the stall. There’s a large black horse inside, who, at the appearance of Louis, pins his ears flat to his head and shuffles back until he hits the back wall. “Friendly. Who’s this?”

Harry stands up, brushing his hands on his jeans, “This is Amigo,” his voice gentles around the horse's name like an endearment. He turns and faces the stall, expression soft and warm, “He’s a rescue from the local auction.”

Louis knows absolutely nothing about horses, but that sounds fancy enough, “And you chose him for something other than his personality, I’m guessing.”

Amigo shakes his head at him and stomps, obviously telling Louis he can fuck off at any time.

Harry laughs quietly, “He’s got a great personality. He just doesn’t know you, is all.”

Louis looks between the horse and Harry, not at all confident in Harry’s assessment, “I don’t know. He looks ready to eat me, honestly.”

In another display of perfect understanding, Amigo bares his teeth.

“Nah,” Harry says, shaking his head, “Somebody treated him horribly, he’s got scars and lumps all over him. He’s ear shy too, he won’t let me anywhere near his head, which means someone decided the best way to get him to listen was to yank on his ears as hard as possible, probably every day. He’s got reason to be wary of people.”

Louis stares at the horse, feeling a sharp pang of sympathy. Who would do something so awful to such a beautiful animal? “Why? Why would they do that?”

Harry reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a bit of carrot. Amigo’s ears flick forward and then flatten again when he notices Louis watching. Leaning against the door, Harry holds the carrot out to him in the palm of his hand, “Because some people are fucking monsters.”

Amigo looks at the carrot in Harry’s hand with forward ears, so interested in the offering he seems to forget about Louis altogether. Slowly, while Louis stays perfectly still, Amigo inches forward, one tiny step at a time, until he’s close enough to snatch the carrot and then quickly shuffle away. Harry smiles proudly.

“See,” he turns to Louis and shrugs, “He’s a little spooked, that’s all. He’ll come around. He just needs to know he’s safe.”

Louis watches Amigo munch on the carrot from the safety of the back of the stall, “Seems like a lot of work, proving that to him after all the shit he went through.”

Harry’s voice, closer than it was a second before, comes from just next to him, “Nothing worth having comes easily.”

Louis looks up and finds himself inches from Harry. He must have moved closer while Louis was preoccupied with watching Amigo. The dim lights cast a shadow over some of his face, but his eyes are clear and green. His lips full and a little chapped, red where he always bites at them.

Louis takes a deep breath and gets a noseful of Harry, pine and cinnamon and something distinctly male. He shudders involuntarily. Harry takes a step forward, so close now that Louis has to tip up his chin to look in his eyes. His right hand, warm and calloused comes up and cups Louis’s jaw, rubbing gently with his thumb. Louis blinks and swallows, frozen in place. His heart has stopped beating, or it’s moving so quickly he can’t even detect it anymore. Harry tips his head down, his breath ghosts warm over Louis’ lips.

A wave of panic rushes over him like a monsoon hitting shore.

He takes a step back, then another, and another still, until they are at a distance that’s too great to be suitable for conversation, but also has the effect of releasing him from Harry’s burning touch.

Harry pulls back, looking confused, and Louis wants to run. He wants to turn and run all the way to his car and never look back. “Here are the cookies,” he says, tripping over his words in his haste to get them out. He shoves the tin into Harry’s hand, “They’re chocolate chip.”

Nonplussed and maybe a little hurt, Harry looks down at the tin and then back up, “Louis-”

Louis shakes his head, taking another step back. “That’s it, that's why I came. Merry Christmas.”

He doesn’t run, but he walks as quickly as he can, stumbling out of the barn and back down the dirt path. He ignores Zayn when he calls to him, eyes locked on his car, and brain begging him to _get out get out_ _get out._

He’s a coward. His hands shake on the steering wheel as he flies down the driveway, spraying gravel in every direction. This was a stupid decision, coming here, looking for Harry. He’ll never be brave enough to tell him how he feels, never be brave enough to open himself up for another failed relationship. He's a coward and so fucking stupid.

Tears blurred his vision the whole drive home.

* * *

Being a Dad means even when you fuck up monumentally in other parts of your life, you don’t get one second of time to wallow in it. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches still need to be made every morning, homework still needs to be gone over, baths still need to be run. Time, tide, and bedtime stories wait for no man.

“Today we learned about different families,” Rosie says, propped up against her pillows. She's in her brand new pink pajamas that she’d gotten from Grandma for Christmas and braided pigtails. Louis thinks she might possibly have reached peak cute. “There are all different types.”

Louis sits on the bed facing her, book in his lap, “That’s true. I think different families are cool.”

“Me too,” Rosie nods empathetically, “Mrs. B says families are families because they love each other, and help each other, and keep each other safe. Jordan said he only has a Mom.”

Louis does his level best not to stiffen, “Well, then Jordan’s family is kind of like ours, isn’t it?”

“Yup,” Rosie says with a smile, “I told him that and he said that’s so cool and that sometimes he’s sad, but not all the time. So I gave him a hug. Did you know that hugs give your brain oxytocin and that’s why you feel better?”

Louis is going to have to look for another parenting book or something. “Where did you learn that?”

Rosie wiggles around on the bed, trying to get a little further under the blanket, “Well, I was just wondering _why_ hugs make you feel better. So on library day, I asked Mr. Roberts and _he_ didn’t know either. So we looked it up together. I got to use screen time, but I didn’t go overboard, Daddy don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Louis replies, opening the book, “Are you ready?”

Rosie nods and settles back against the pillows, waiting. Louis turns to the first page of Princesses Wear Pants.

“Princess Penelope Pineapple -”

“You make me feel safe, Daddy.”

Louis looks up and searches his daughters face for a clue as to what she’s feeling, “I’m glad, little girl. That’s my job.”

Rosie nods and then looks down at the book, so Louis tries again. “Princess-”

“Does Mr. Harry make you feel safe?”

Louis’ heart sinks. “I- I guess so. I feel safe around him. Does he make you feel safe?”

“Mmhmm,” Rosie says, nodding, “He was nice to the Christmas tree when I was sad about it.”

“That’s true,” Louis confirms, really at a total loss.

“Do you think Mr. Harry wants to be part of our family?”

Louis takes a steadying breath. Rosie looks at him curiously, pulling at a braid. He’s got to answer her, but first, he’s got to figure out what in the hell to say. They really should hand out guidebooks when they deliver babies.

“He fixed the roof,” Rosie says after Louis has floundered for just a bit too long, “And brought us the tree. And Uncle Niall said he fixed the fridge, and that’s why it doesn’t make that tapping noise anymore and melt all the ice. And he makes us feel safe. Those are all family things.”

“Oh,” Louis breathes, he clears his throat and looks away for just a second. Looking back, he smiles, “Those do sound like family things, don’t they? Would you like for Harry to be a part of our family?”

Rosie smiles so big, it nearly reaches around to both ears. Louis’ throat threatens to close. “Yeah!”

Louis smiles back, even though fear is twisting his insides around like the tangled slinky left in the toy box from last Christmas. He pats her leg, “Alright. Let’s get reading and get you to bed. Maybe we’ll ask him, next time we see him.”

Rosie agrees and Louis starts reading again, and this time she lets him continue. Perched on the edge of his daughter’s bed, Louis does everything he can to focus on Princess Penelope's adventures and ignore the anxiety threatening to swallow him up.

Luckily for him, for this night at least, Penelope wins.

* * *

It takes seven days. A full week goes by, during which time Louis’ phone remains silent save for an occasional text from Niall and contact from his clients about scheduling. Just a week before, it pinged near constantly with Harry’s hideous knock-knock jokes or random anecdotes about his daily life. The contrast is like a toothache, painful and nagging, making itself constantly known.

It takes seven days, and when Louis finds himself in the car on the way to Harry, it’s not even a conscious decision. Rosie hadn’t mentioned Harry again, but Louis had been cleaning up her drawing table and come across a picture she’d made of her family. In it, she’d labeled Uncle Niall, Daddy, Grandma, and, off to the side but obviously still a part of the group, Harry.

And then Louis was in the car. Very few things overpower Louis’ sense of self-preservation and fear of commitment, and Rosie’s happiness is right at the top of that list. He’s got to face whatever this is, no matter the outcome. He’s got to know what Harry’s intentions are, what his feelings are. This is bigger than just him and Harry, there is a child involved now, a child who's already been abandoned by someone who should have loved her forever. He’s just got to face this thing and figure it out.

Ever possible scenario plays through Louis’ brain on the drive up. He rants to himself, working out a script and at least five different winning counterarguments. The second he walks into the store, every bit of it flies out of his head.

Zayn is at the register again, counting money, he doesn’t seem to notice the chime of the bell. Harry though, with his back to the door, arranging something on the shelves, does hear it and looks up. The look on his face, when he spots Louis is a mix of confusion and trepidation.

“I’m spooked,” Louis says, a little louder than he’d meant to, “I’m spooked too.”

Zayn’s head snaps up and he looks between them. “I think I’ll head to the back and check some inventory,” he says, sliding out from the register and hurrying away.

Harry watches him go and turns back to Louis, “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Louis takes a step forward and stops, rubbing the back of his neck, “It means my ex, Rosie’s mom, was the only person I’ve ever been with, and she and I made this incredible blessing. Then one morning I woke up, and she was gone. She looked at that beautiful baby, and she looked at me, and she got up in the middle of the night and left us behind. And then-”

Louis stops when his voice cracks and his throat tightens. Harry’s still standing in the same spot, holding a candle and a price gun, staring at him. Louis takes a deep breath, “And then I realized I was gay, and that was not a fun process to go through while on my own with a four-year-old. And to add to that, not a lot of my family are accepting of that little revelation. What I’m saying is... What I’m saying is I understand how Amigo feels because I’m pretty fucking scared of people hurting me too.”

With a loud clatter, Harry drops the candle and the price gun to the floor and clears the space between them in three long strides. He presses himself up against Louis’ body and takes his face in his hands, “Oh, thank god. I thought you were straight.”

He kisses him like he’s drowning and Louis is air itself. His hands are calloused and rough, but cradle Louis’ face like fine china, holding him in place so he can take, and plunder, and cherish. Louis sways, and Harry walks him backward, pressing him up against the wall and holding him up with his body against his, connecting at every point. He kisses him slowly like he’s got all the time in the world. He kisses him softly like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever found. He kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

Louis pulls back, when he feels like he might drop to the floor in an actual puddle, and tips his head back against the wall. He watches Harry, chest heaving.

“I’m going to show you,” Harry promises, pressing a kiss to Louis’ jaw, “I’m going to love you so well, you’ll never be scared again. And Rosie too, I’m not her Mom, I’ll never do that, I would _never_ do that, Lou.”

“Things happen sometimes Harry-” Louis says cautiously.

Harry shakes his head, “No, I’m going to show you. I’m going to love you both. And you’re going to let me show you.”

So Louis takes a deep breath, leans in for another kiss, and lets Harry show him.

* * *

On Rosie’s seventh birthday, the summer sun shines down on her as she strolls around the small garden just behind the big red barn. Amigo, sporting braids in his mane and a forgotten lead rope draped across his neck, follows behind her.

“Chemicals are very bad for the Earth. They get into the water and poison the creatures that live there, and they kill bees. Bees are super duper important,” she informs Amigo, who has his ears perked up, listening intently, “So, Uncle Lima helped me plant all of these to keep the flies away from you, instead of using the fly spray. Because it’s so full of chemicals.”

Squatting down, she collects a few handfuls of flowers and stands back up, turning to the horse. With a little frown, she judges the distance between herself and his forelock.

“You have to put your head down,” she says, moving the flowers to one hand and using the other to tug gently at his halter. He lowers his head obediently, until his whiskers graze the ground, and waits.

She nods and smiles, “Perfect.”

Dropping the flowers to the ground, she braids his forelock slowly, tongue sticking out in concentration, and then weaves a sprig of lavender in, followed by some Holy Basil. Satisfied with his forelock, Rosie gives him a little pat and moves on to his mane.

“Uncle Zaynie is going to give us an extra birthday lesson today,” Rosie informs him while working flowers through his hair. He watches her closely with his head tilted towards her. “He says we can start trotting poles. I read all about it last night in the book I told you about. Forward motion is the most important part, so when we’re trotting you can’t drag your feet you have to..”

From up on the porch, Louis leans against the railing and watches his little girl and her 900 pound best friend. Amigo had never really learned to trust Harry fully and he watched Louis with mild disdain. But, one day Rosie had gone into the barn without telling anyone, walked right into his stall, and he walked right back out with her. Apparently, he has a thing for pink rain boots and chit-chat. Now, they’re so inseparable, Louis is pretty sure Amigo would follow Rosie to school if he could.

The screen door shuts quietly behind him and then he’s wrapped up in warm arms and the smell of cinnamon. “Looks like Amigo is getting a makeover.”

Louis closes his eyes and leans back against Harry’s chest, “Yup. I’m sure he’s very happy.”

Harry’s laugh rumbles through his chest. He dips his head down and presses a kiss to Louis’ neck, doing it again when Louis drops his head to the side to give him better access.

“What about you?” Harry murmurs against Louis’ skin

“Hmm?”

Harry nips at the lobe of his ear, “Are you happy?”

Louis opens his eyes. Rosie is kissing Amigo on the nose just below them, further out, just beyond the store, he can see Liam and Zayn walking through the trees, taking stock. Piano notes, light and sweet, play from inside the house, Niall at the bench.

With a content smile, Louis closes his eyes again, “I am. I really, really am.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you would like to share this fic, the post is [here](https://justalittlelouislove.tumblr.com/post/181176432778/o-christmas-tree-by-justalittlelouislove-louis)
> 
> Also, Amigo is real and I am his Rosie. He will be 32 this year, and he is more loved than ever.


End file.
